


New Year’s Festivities

by Searece



Category: Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, M/M, new year's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searece/pseuds/Searece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl is sitting on a ledge overlooking the Ark's New Year's activities, watching them. Jazz finds him.   The next year, it is Prowl who finds Jazz and cheers the other up a bit.  As the years pass, we are shown more interactions between the two black and whites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Year

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter was originally published on www.fanfiction.net on January 1, 2012 under my username "Searece".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, and I never will.
> 
> Hey, everyone! :) This is "New Year's Festivities." I'd be happy to know what you think of this. Happy New Year’s!

Prowl smiled as he watched the progression of the festivities going on below him. The Autobots were preparing to celebrate their first New Year’s on Earth; he chose to simply watch them after he had helped set up some of the decorations, though he doubted anyone even knew he was up above them. Except Jazz, Jazz always knew where he was. Thinking of Jazz, he heard footsteps behind him. Doorwings twitched as a body got uncomfortably close to them.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke first, “Hello, Jazz, happy New Year’s Eve to you.”

Jazz’s response was quiet, unwilling to break the peaceful silence that had settled over them, “Happy New Year’s Eve to you, too. Wha’ are ya doing out here, friend?” he questioned.

Friend. That word always made Prowl so warm inside; he cherished his friends. Answering, he responded kindly, “I prefer watching everyone else be happy instead of joining in the festivities. Why?”

He closed his optics as he felt the body shift to sit beside him, but not invading his personal space. The response was the following:

“Just worried ‘bout ya. Ya should join in; it’d raise their spirits a lot, ya know. Plus, ah haven’t seen ya much today.”

A small smile made its way to his face at the kind words. Opening his optics as he looked at his… friend, the words slipped out shyly, and without his permission, “You really think so?”

Jazz glanced at him, “Ah know so.” Standing up, he grabbed Prowl’s hand and tugged him upwards; then let go. “Come on, ah got a box of decorations with your name on it for ya ta put up.”

Prowl followed him as he went back inside their mountain home.

“Thanks, Jazz.” At the curious look Jazz tossed back to him, he smiled and explained, “Thanks for being my friend.”

Jazz’s reply was quiet, soft, and full of gratitude, “No, Prowl, thank _you_ for being _my_ friend.”


	2. The Second Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally published on www.fanfiction.net on January 1, 2013 under my username "Searece".   
> Happy New Year's!

Smiling, Jazz hummed a soft tune while watching the other Autobots scurry around, preparing for celebrations as they had done the last year. He almost could not believe that it had already been a year by human standards. It was incredible that time spun by so fast, which made him a bit melancholy for reasons he could not—and did not want to—name. Looking up at the sky, now, Jazz sighed but then smiled. He remembered that he did have a reason to be happy: his friends!

Speaking of friends, his audio-vibration sensor horns detected the pattern of a certain mech's systems thrumming silently; and with a gentle smile, Jazz glanced behind him. It garnered him a soft chuckle and an equally gentle smile back.

"Happy New Year's Eve," they spoke at the same time. Prowl's smile widened at that. Stepping closer to Jazz, he wrapped his arms around the other mech's shoulders, temporarily burrowing his helm into the back of Jazz's neck and clasping his hands together right above where the precious spark rested inside his friend's body. Jazz lifted his hands to squeeze Prowl's, feeling the mech's arms do the same to him. All in all, he was glad that Prowl considered him close enough of a trustworthy friend to give him the traditional Praxian greeting towards family (essentially merely a hug with the hands clasped together and the giver's face buried into the recipient's neck). That meant Prowl considered him a brother.

Drawing back, Prowl let go of Jazz, and they both looked forward. He tilted his head as he shifted to stand beside the other. "You were out there earlier… why not now? I am sure they would enjoy your presence again."

"Hmm… just a bit tired, Prowl." Jazz replied to his friend.

"Really? Maybe you should recharge," he returned softly, voice teasing just enough to get the right reaction.

Suddenly cheered up, Jazz let out a soft laugh, exclaiming, "And miss all the celebration? Not a chance, Prowlah!" He flashed a grin at his friend.

The Praxian shook his head in amusement, correcting while knowing that Jazz would never stop the nickname, "It's Prowl. Then, come on; let's get you inside. I'm pretty certain that they have a box with your name on it, this year."

Amused almost beyond compare at the reference to last year, Jazz grinned while Prowl started to head inside. He was about to follow, but he cast another fond look to the Autobots down below.

"Prowl, buddy, wait up!" He laughed, walking quickly to catch up with his friend, who paused. Jazz returned the earlier gesture of a Praxian greeting. He wrapped his arms around Prowl's shoulders, pressed his faced into the back of his neck, and squeezed his arms, feeling the corresponding tightening of Prowl's hand around his.

Pulling away, Jazz pranced into the Ark, again laughing with Prowl; and the Praxian shook his helm in fond, slightly exasperated amusement at his friend's delighted antics.


	3. The Third Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the third year and 2014 installment of “New Year’s Festivities”!  This is “The Third Year,” in which we get to see some of Prowl’s thoughts and another tender moment between Prowl and Jazz.  Also, Jazz’s accent may not remain consistent because I find it hard to write.

            Another year was saying goodbye, and from just beside the entrance of the Ark, Prowl watched in minor fascination as Jazz wandered around, talking to each mech he came across.  How Jazz was able to connect so easily with nearly every mech he came across was a complete mystery to Prowl, who had always been (and likely always would be) extremely socially inept and shy.

            Though it was just who he was, he constantly thanked Primus for Jazz’s intervention in his life and that Jazz was so out-going.  Nothing got hurt by the fact that Jazz enjoyed prattling on and on and on when stressed; that certain trait was encouraged by the fact that Prowl quite enjoyed listening to Jazz’s pleasant voice.

            Back to the celebration, however, everyone else was having such a good time that Prowl had to smile.  A few of the minibots started pestering the twins, who retaliated by stringing left-over tinsel from their Christmas party all over their annoyers.  Bluestreak worked with the twins to corner the minibots, who then retaliated by spreading around the decorations and yelling mock-insults to the Datsun and Lamborghini trio.

            Hound and Beachcomber were discussing sea life while setting up decorations that the twins and other minibots were supposed to be setting up.  While Prowl didn’t particularly care about how coral reproduced or what the effects of it were on ocean life, he enjoyed the sight of the two mechs relaxing together with Mirage contentedly watching from the sidelines.

            Many other mechs did Prowl watch and observe, keeping guard so they could relax and not have to worry.  The white and black Praxian watched with enjoyment, but he was startled as a hand touched his shoulder, causing him to look up to see the Autobot’s leader, Optimus Prime.

            “Sir?” he asked, optics focusing on the mech’s face.

            Optimus chuckled, “Go out and try to mingle.  You know Jazz would love it if you did.”

            Prowl wiggled his doorwings in a shrug, saying, “He would, but Optimus, you know I’m terrible at ‘mingling.’ ”

            Clearly smiling behind his mask, Optimus gently prodded Prowl in the back.  “At the very least, then, let Jazz drag you around some.”

            Prowl sighed, nodding as he started off for Jazz, feeling a bit like the universe was conspiring against him.  “Yes, Optimus.”

            “Hey, Prowl!” Jazz called in happiness as saw his closest friend approaching him, stopping his organizing of the decorations to listen to Prowl.

            “Optimus insisted that I come socialize with you,” explained the Praxian, doorwings twitching in his displeasure.

            Jazz looked down, chuckling in amusement, shaking his head as he stood up, dusting off his knees with his hands; though he really shouldn’t have bothered for all the good the action did.  He gave a wide grin, apparently coming to a conclusion in his head.  “Yup, Prime’s definitely a sneaky one, alright.  Did you know that he was the one to set up Mirage and Hound together when all of my attempts had failed?”

            “Really, now?”  Prowl asked, completely surprised.

            “Mm-hmm,” Jazz confirmed, staring at his agents with something of a motherly gaze that had Prowl smiling.  “It’s real recent, too, so I hope their relationship prospers; they deserve it.  Especially with the new year upon us so soon.”

            “Indeed, we all deserve happiness and second chances, don’t we?”  The Praxian glanced down at Jazz.

            “We do, and hopefully that’s what this year will bring,” Jazz murmured as he leaned gently against Prowl.


	4. The Fourth Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle occurs a few days before New Year's Day, and Prowl visits an injured Jazz in the medbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I meant to post this yesterday (1/1/2015), but got distracted and never did. Now it's after 4 in the morning and I'm posting it. Here's the note from the fic on fanfiction.net:
> 
> Happy New Year's. This was going to be much different, but my hard drive to my desk top crashed Monday, the day when I was going to save it on a flash drive, and I wasn't too happy. Still am not happy, because I had a couple other stories I lost because they were on my desk top. Nonetheless, I wrote this last night and am now posting it.

Jazz drummed his digits against the berth as he laid staring up at the ceiling. He wished he could be doing anything but what he was doing-laying down uselessly and not even tired enough to go into recharge. He'd tried, too, to go into recharge, but he'd spent the past few hours attempting to doze off with no success whatsoever. His exposed optics narrowed in irritation.

Why had the Decepticons chosen to attack when they had? They certainly had lousy timing, attacking a few days before New Year's Day. The consequences of their attack were in the medbay, a few injured mecha resting unhappily. At least nobody had been killed, though that was hardly a plus for Jazz. He just wanted to be out of the berth and doing something, preferably something like cheering up his fellow Autobots instead of listening to them mope about several hallways away.

Ceasing their drumming, his digits clenched on the berth and tightened into fists. His optics narrowed as he turned his helm to stare at the wall, blank and bright orange like the rest of the room. Honestly, how could Ratchet stand to look at it? How could he, Jazz, stand to look at the rest of the ship, actually, considering it was the very same nauseating color? With a huff he made up his processor to redecorate some after he got released from the medbay.

"You look terribly unhappy," said a voice from the door.

Jazz couldn't help himself when he shrieked, convulsing once on the berth and nearly rolling off before he managed to calm. Panting, he snapped his helm in the direction of the door, optics wide.

"My apologies," Prowl quirked an optic ridge as he strode further into the private room Jazz had gained from being the most damaged mech from the Decepticon-Autobot skirmish a few days prior. Sitting down in the chair beside the other's berth, he took in what injuries he could on Jazz's frame, which wasn't many as the saboteur had a thermal blanket covering from his shoulders down. Only his helm and left arm were uncovered, but as Ratchet had given him the injury list datapad, the tactician knew what Jazz had suffered through.

The other's left helm finial had been damaged and wasn't working properly. His visor had been shattered. Multiple armor plates on his chest had to be removed, and his abdomen was bare straight down to his protoform. His right servo was missing two of its clawed digits. On his legs, Jazz was missing his right leg from his knee down while his left was nearly unresponsive. Multiple scrapes and scratches were tenderly welded over, though some cuts on his faceplates remained blue with the circulating energon so close to the surface.

Carefully, Prowl pulled back the blanket to take in the visual wounds for himself. Though Jazz didn't protest the action verbally, he did frown and shiver a bit while clamping down what armor he had close to his body. The tactician counted it as a sign of trust that Jazz had let him do so without complaint, especially as the mech's heating system wasn't working.

Suddenly Jazz snorted and turned his helm away, left servo twitching towards the blanket. Recognizing the huffy behavior, Prowl carefully covered the smaller mech back up, again leaving his better servo uncovered. Jazz's engine growled softly, prompting the Praxian to take the other's servo in his own and gently caress over it. The offered comfort did its job and relaxed Jazz just enough so he would stare at the ceiling again instead of directly away from Prowl.

"Why ya here, Prowl?" questioned Jazz, who almost winced at the sound of his own rough voice.

"Am I not allowed to see a hurt friend?" Prowl quirked an optic ridge, desiring to stroke the other's helm and cheeks but resisting the urge. Instead, he gently tightened his servo around Jazz's.

"Figured you'd prefer your datapads and their stress over me," snarked the smaller, somehow seeming even more upset than the moment before.

Inaudibly, Prowl sighed. He hated when Jazz reverted back to his anti-social, irritated behavior, which he'd had when Prowl had met him before the war. Gradually after meeting Prowl, the Polyhexian had loosened up and started socializing more often, which his friends had been glad to see even if they'd been confused as to why he'd suddenly become much more sociable.

"Datapads do not talk back with any intelligence," calmly stated Prowl with a flutter of his sensory panels.

"Doubtful I provide better company," remarked Jazz as he glanced with irritated optics to Prowl.

"Better company? Perhaps not," Prowl ignored the affronted grunt from the smaller, "Better friendship? Most definitely."

After a few minutes of silence, Jazz smiled in response, and Prowl found the way the action brightened the other's face to be amazing. His lips quirked upwards in response.

Jazz lifted his servo, stretching his arm out towards Prowl's face. The desire to touch was too strong for him to ignore, and his gentle claws pressed against the other's cheek. The SiC's optics closed as he tilted his helm into the touch. They stayed like that until Jazz's arm tired and he lowered it back to the berth.

Prowl blinked his optics open, looking down at Jazz, who even with the damages he sustained, seemed beautiful at that moment. The Praxian's smile widened, remaining gentle, as he leaned down to hover over the other's face.

"Jazz?" he questioned softly, gaze meeting Jazz's.

"Yeah?" hopefully breathed out the saboteur, servo twitching into Prowl's tender grip.

"I trust you wouldn't be adverse to a kiss?"

"'Course not," smiled the smaller mech. Their lips met gently, both mechs' optics closing as they enjoyed the sensations. Jazz moaned softly, his tense frame relaxing before Prowl pulled away to nuzzle him.

"Get better soon," Prowl murmured with adoration as Jazz nuzzled back.


	5. The Fifth Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz has a bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/1/2016
> 
> Whee. I'm exhausted but alive. I had half of this wrote six months ago and half written today, so if it seems a little odd, that's why. And I'm tired. I wanted it to be longer than last year's chappy, but I'm not sure it is. Anyway, enjoy?

            The Autobots were forced to celebrate the New Year with a battle that landed quite a few of them in the medical bay under the medics’ care. Prowl was the most heavily damaged of the casualties. Of course, while everyone was worried about whether or not their SIC would survive, one mech worried more than most.

            Jazz appeared the most concerned.

            _‘Everyone would be worrying more,’_ he thought in anger and despair, _‘if they had seen his injuries.’_  

            Starscream, Skywarp, and Thundercracker had quite generously given Prowl the majority of his wounds, including the null ray shot to his helm which had scrambled so many circuits. Jazz thought his best friend had died at the servos of those three wretches. He sobbed, curling his body into a tiny ball, at the mere thought. 

            Though he felt relief at the fact that Prowl was still alive, he felt dread at the fact that Prowl still hadn’t awoken, not once even a month after the battle.

             Jazz shuddered in his ball, his servos over his exposed face as tears slid down his cheeks. He was glad the area around him was dark; the dark made him so much more comfortable despite the fact that it didn’t comfort him. That didn’t make sense! 

            With a whimper he stumbled up and started pacing the small room. Last year when he’d been injured and in the medbay, Prowl had come to him to comfort him. By all rights, he should be in there with Prowl right now, but Ratchet had forbidden visitors. Jazz growled, a sudden fire in his gaze as he straightened. Forbidden or not, he would get to Prowl. Nobody could keep him from his friend. 

            Resolutely he wiped the tears from his face and snapped his visor back onto his face as he strode out the door. 

            Since he couldn’t keep his usual smile on his faceplates, he didn’t bother to try and instead avoided every mech he could. 

            When he finally reached the medbay, he sent an unobtrusive ping to the medic’s comm. line, a ping that would only reach the medic if he wasn’t fatally busy. The door opened a fraction to reveal the chief medical officer’s tired face.

            “This better be an emergency, Jazz,” tried to growl Ratchet. Evidently he’d been more stressed than usual during post-battle repairs, though he was possibly just worried about Prowl and whoever else was still injured. 

            “I’m here to see Prowl.” 

            “I’m not letting him have visitors right now.” Ratchet narrowed his optics. 

            “Let me in,” Jazz growled, his voice low and dark like a storm cloud. When the medic tried to close the door, Jazz quickly pressed his pede into its way. “I’ll get in your way or my way, whether you want me to or not.” 

            Ratchet’s armor clamped against his frame at the dangerous tone. He knew Jazz was telling the truth. Even he knew better than to argue with Jazz when he was like this. Despite that, he hesitated. 

            “Ratchet, Prowl is my best friend, and I finally realized that Optimus had been trying to get us together for half the war. Let me in,” Jazz rumbled in frustration, his angry EM field snapping out and making him a larger presence than he actually was. 

            Ratchet flinched at the developing fury Jazz emitted. Only Primus, and maybe Prowl, knew how dangerous an angry Jazz was. Nobody wanted to get on Jazz’s bad side, not even Ratchet. 

            “Fine,” he ground out, “but don’t disturb him.” 

            “Like he’d mind if I did,” Jazz teased, attempting to pull up his non-existent cheerful demeanor at the thought of seeing Prowl.

            “He might not, but I would,” Ratchet scowled at him as he skulked around the edges of the medbay. 

            “Which isolation room is he in?” 

            “Two.” 

            Jazz’s gaze focused on the door in the back of the med bay as he marched for it. “Thanks,” he threw over his shoulder and impatiently mashed the button for the door. He squeezed himself through it before it was even fully open.

            He stepped softly down the hallway, not wanting to disturb Prowl’s rest even if Prowl wouldn’t wake up anyway. He stopped in front of the door with the number _2_ marked on it and lifted his servo over the key panel. Nervousness flared in his spark when he hesitated too long, a sense of dread pooling in his tanks. What if Prowl never woke up? 

            Jazz knew he wouldn’t see the end of the war if that happened.

            Angrily he punched the open button on the door. It slid into the wall peacefully, and slowly, much too slowly for Jazz’s tastes. The soft white walls inside that greeted him momentarily surprised him, but he nonetheless padded into the room. 

            “Hey, there,” he whispered, his gaze settling on Prowl’s frame. A light thermoblanket covered the Praxian’s frame, draped mercifully lightly over the mech’s sensory panels. As Jazz stood beside his friend and lover, he almost couldn’t bear to look at Prowl’s relaxed face. What he wouldn’t give for that face to be scowling at his antics right now…

             Jazz collapsed into the chair beside the berth and pulled his knees up to his chest.

             “So,” continued Jazz with a sniffle, “everyone’s pretty much fine after that battle. You… you were the worst off. It’s been a month, you know. Ratchet’s worried, Prime’s worried, we’re all worried. 

            “I’m worried. You’ve gotta come back to us, Prowler. Everyone’s too worried to argue, and that’s a strange thing. Because, because they know that you’re the one keepin’ ‘em together. I help, but you’re the one who organizes everything, and your datawork is killer, mech.” Jazz abruptly switched topics, “I don’t know how you stand it, honestly, and I only have part of your normal workload. There’s been some reports that I swear were bogus, but I dealt with them properly anyway, so you wouldn’t have as much work when you came back online. I did them like the datawork loving, rulebook obsessed TIC you know I’m not. Ratch’ and ‘Hide are goin’ crazy, too, I think. 

             “And I did it just so you wouldn’t have to do as much when you come back online,” Jazz sniffled and laid his helm down on the berth. He reached under the thermoblanket and grasped Prowl’s servo, clutching it like a lifeline. “You’re missin’ out on a lot, ya know.”

             Jazz gazed desperately at Prowl’s face as he searched for a sign, even the barest twitch, that his beloved would awaken.


	6. The Sixth Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl wakes up.
> 
> Also the chapter where I say: GUYS. GUYS, I'M SORRY. I'M 8 MONTHS 9 DAYS LATE. I'M SORRY. HOW DID I FORGET TO POST ON AO3 BUT NOT FF. I DON'T DESERVE ANY KUDOS FOR THIS UNSPEAKABLE HORROR I HAVE COMMITTED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 1/1/2017 on FF. I forgot until 8/10/2017 to post on here. I'm so sorry. T_T

Nobody poked fun at Jazz for the insistent nearness, not when they were trying to do the same thing. The object of their attentions was confused but not enough to protest where they could hear. Currently said object was in medical for a checkup and Jazz wasn’t with him.

“Buddy!” Blaster swung an arm over Jazz’s shoulders, “How is he?” Worry shone in his optics.

Jazz smiled tiredly. “Ratch’ is doing an in-depth checkup on him. He looks good though.” He collapsed on the giant couch with a squeak of his joints.

“Sounds like you might need a checkup, yourself,” the orange bot teased as he sat beside Jazz.

“Naw!” Jazz crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his helm down. “I’m just fine.”

The banter continued and other bots joined in, playfully ribbing Jazz for not keeping up with the local gossip. In his defense, he protested, he’d been busy. When, later, a hush fell upon the mechs near the front of the rec room, Jazz paused in a story he’d been telling and turned. His breath caught in his throat.

He’d never seen a sight more beautiful than Prowl creeping through the door looking as if the bots in the rec room were all sharkticons about to pounce. Although granted, Jazz was sure they looked like them.

He scrambled over the back of the couch and nearly faceplanted into the floor in his haste to meet the mech.

“Prowl!” he chirped, happy enough he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed over the sparkling-like sound. How many hours had the mech been in Ratchet’s care? He skidded to a stop in front of the other black and white with inches to spare as he looked Prowl over. No marks anywhere. They’d had plenty of time to clean him during the past… too long.

Ratchet quirked an optic ridge at Jazz’s hovering. “You can make sure he’s all right now.”

Glancing between medic and tactician, a wide opticked turbokitten look took over his faceplates and he flung himself at Prowl. Prowl held his arms out from his sides as Jazz squeezed his chest, and for all Jazz was much too excited to see him again after only a couple hours, the hug was remarkably gentle.

Prowl rubbed Jazz’s audios and wrapped his other arm around his waist. “Let’s go sit,” he murmured. Jazz leant his helm against his chest and nodded, and somehow they got to a chair that really only fit Prowl. However, master contortionist Jazz fit perfectly in Prowl’s lap save for one ankle tossed over the arm of the chair. Once Jazz had been still for several long seconds, bots crept closer. Everyone shifted and looked at each other.

Finally, Sideswipe spoke up, “How are you feeling?” Four short words summed up the entire rec room’s worries.

Prowl looked up from where he’d rested his helm against Jazz’s. Silence reigned for several minutes while he thought of what to say.

“I am…” Tired and achy for no reason. Several unpleasant adjectives. His lips pursed as he pondered. “…feeling as if I missed the fireworks.”

Someone started laughing and the rest of the room followed suit. While most Autobots didn’t like the noise, the lightshow was remarkable and Prowl had indeed missed them. Jazz peered up from his cuddling and commented, “I got a box—” and by box that meant one big, Cybertronian sized box, “—in my room. Let’s light up the sky when Prowl’s up to it!”


End file.
